


Cut to the Chase

by locusinbloom (Fractual_Visions)



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, Corporal Punishment, Fluff, Handcuffs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, embarrassing lack of onscreen sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-07-11 01:25:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7019818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fractual_Visions/pseuds/locusinbloom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Maybe he should have manned his principles and never touched the boy at all, he thought bitterly, starring at the darkened skylight over his bed.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>His conscience, such as it was, and his good sense warred with his darkest impulses. It would be so easy to enter the Stark residence by night, bind Tony with magic, and take them to a place where Tony could never run away again. So easy, yet that devastatingly alluring trust in Tony's eyes would be gone forever. Loki sighed.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He had to wait. However long it might take.</em>
</p><p>Note: this is marked noncon because of some extremely dubcon physical violence. No rape herein! Just some general skeeviness with a teenage Tony Stark. ;)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cut to the Chase

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iswyn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iswyn/gifts).



> Happy Birthday, lovely Iswyn!
> 
> For those who don't ~~live in a cesspool of endless depravity~~ know what a switch is, it's a slender, flexible tree branch with the leaves (and sometimes the bark and knots) stripped off. It looks very innocent and innocuous but is fully capable of breaking skin and leaving bruises just like a whip. Also, steel handcuffs are not great bedroom toys, even double locking ones. Use with care.

A whisper of magic would speed the coffee brewing, but Loki purposefully refrained.

His self-imposed exile to Earth had been petty, all over the discovery that Thor was indeed writ to become the next king, but Loki as yet had no desire to leave it. He had a boringly inconspicuous job in finance, a non-ostentatious car, and a very large house in a snobby neighborhood whose soccer mom gossip vine reminded him enough of Asgard to keep the nostalgia at bay. Plus a few indulgent extras. There was a 1969 Honda CB750 in near mint condition in the garage. Loki had spent a great deal of money to acquire it, taken by its similarity to the sort of bike given to Asgardian children. It was plated in chrome, unlike the gold alloy favored by Asgard, but Loki considered that an addition to its charms. The fuel tank and side panels were painted in deep hunter green. He also had a tiny hot tub on the second floor deck.

It didn't compare to Asgard and, after thirty years, his seiðr was ever a soft and constant temptation, but he liked it.

This life he had built, that is.

The coffeemaker pinged at the end of the brewing cycle. Loki grabbed a mug from the counter, bringing him directly in line with the kitchen window. It was a beautiful day out. The sun was cresting lazily over the horizon. It shone brightly through paper thin gaps in his back fence. The grass needed cut soon. A few clouds were drifting slowly overhead. A teenager in a black t-shirt and ripped cut-offs was spray painting the rear windshield of Loki's car.

The screen door slammed in its frame behind Loki as he bolted out the kitchen door.

The punk looked up, startled, and took off running.

He was fast, but not faster than Loki. He tossed the spray can aside to grab the fence with both hands and planted one foot on it for leverage. Just as he pushed up in a move that would have vaulted him over, Loki snatched him out of the air, slamming him into the dirt. Loki had one leg over the boy's hips and one hand pinning both wrists over the boy's head before the little devil had time to breathe.

"Get off me," he shouted, gasping from the sudden fall. "Let me go!"

He was twisting hard in Loki's grip and he was strong, much stronger than implied by his slender frame and jutting hipbones. The sweat slicking his skin made it just that little bit harder to hold on. Loki closed his fingers tighter to compensate. He didn't notice or care about the grass stains forming on his slacks or suit jacket as he reached with his other hand for the discarded spray can.

"Fuck it, you're hurting me," the teen cursed, a tiny hint of nervousness creeping into his voice.

Loki brought the can up to point in the kid's face, finger poised on the trigger—he wouldn't really do it, of course he wouldn't—and that, that was real fear, frozen and wide-eyed.

Loki noticed a number of things simultaneously. One, that he was ~~about to commit~~ had committed felonious assault on a minor. Two, said minor had the prettiest brown eyes, made even richer and brighter by a coat of tears.

Three, he was so turned on it was making him dizzy.

He wanted to rip that black t-shirt to shreds, see if the slight tan on the boy's stomach went all the way up, wondered what color his nipples were and what they would taste like. He wanted to yank those faded denim pants down, finger him open, fuck him right there in the dirt and never take his eyes off those gorgeous hazel irises while he did it.

Loki got to his feet and tossed the spray can over the fence.

"Get out of here," he ordered.

The teenager didn't need to be told twice.

Loki walked back to the car, breathing slowly and deeply. The entire rear window was covered in an abstract, albeit unfinished design. It resembled a tic-tac-toe game played by someone who did not know the rules and where both sides used filled dots instead of x's and o's. Loki sighed. It would take at least an hour to scrub it off, an hour he didn't have right now. Magic itched under his fingernails: a tiny gesture would wash the window factory-clean. In the end he resisted.

He was already late and became later by going back upstairs to change suits. At the office, his secretary had expertly rescheduled his nine am phone conference; his boss gave him a completely unimpressed look at the—highly-edited—tale of Loki's morning woes; and he threw himself into his work. He had to give a conference address that evening, got home late, and crawled directly into bed.

He cursed the next morning when he realized that he had forgotten to set the alarm early enough to go out and wash the car before work. After work, Loki shut the backyard gate and gave the car a disgusted look. First dinner and a shower, then he would deal with the graffiti.

Warm water sluicing in rivulets down his legs and tickling between his toes felt like Valhalla. It freed Loki's mind to ponder what had transpired the previous morning. Loki had learned discretion during his first few years on Earth. To blend with the populous meant he could not take vengeance on every miserable human who dared to insult an Ás. He had not slipped like that in quite a while. To be sure, had a youth done that in Asgard, Loki would have done far worse than merely threaten. He couldn't say he felt guilt, not honestly. He adjusted the shower head downward. It was, however, a touch shameful. Loki had never suffered from battle lust. His proficiency with knives was legendary. . . yet a knife buried tang deep in an enemy's neck brought only the simple pleasure of mechanical accuracy. He had never desired to rut after battle like other warriors, like _Thor_ , nor had he ever fucked the captured or the fallen as some enjoyed. Loki had thought himself above that.

Well.

Perhaps not if the captured were a lowly human _child_ incapable of mounting even the barest defense.

Loki never truly believed himself as vile as was whispered in the halls of Asgard but sometimes—dragging the soapy loofa ruefully over his bare chest—he wondered.

 

"Odin's hairy asscrack," Loki swore, dropping his cup back to its saucer with a clatter.

He had gone to the kitchen after his shower to make a light supper. While waiting for the rice to steam, he had put on a kettle to boil, then taken the cup to the window.

It was a familiar ritual, watching the sky darken into twilight and first stars come out. So different from Asgard and so painfully the same. But that land, no matter how oft thought of it, would never be home again. Not so long as his every thought of it brought a twisting bitterness to his chest.

A breeze had gusted up, shaking the boughs of the cherry tree and drawing Loki's eye to the car parked underneath of it. Loki would have noticed the car regardless: the twilight made the white paint glow eerily on the dark glass. At first sight, he thought the punk had come back to finish the job. A skinny figure in the same dark t-shirt and denim shorts was touching the window. Loki grabbed white-knuckled on the counter's edge, physically restraining an urge to— to—

It was evident in a few seconds that Loki's first impression had been wrong. He gaped in astonishment. Could it be possible what appeared to be the case? That the teenager had climbed back over his fence—heavy bucket in tow—to _clean the window?_ But why?

Had someone else discovered the miscreant's misdeeds and forced this act of contrition? Was the boy attempting to remove the evidence of wrongdoing?

The kitchen timer drew Loki's reluctant attention from the window. He finished seasoning the rice. He mixed in the vegetables. Getting down a plate required passing the window, from which he saw the paint removal nearly done. Loki slowly replaced the half-withdrawn piece of china into the cabinet. He tossed a towel over the rice pot and shoved it in the oven, then yanked a coke can from the refrigerator and stepped out back.

Clearly the delinquent-turned-penitent had known Loki was home: at the first sound of the door, he was halfway across the yard then gone like a ghost.

Loki strolled casually to the car and inspected it.

"You missed a spot," he announced loudly.

A few heartbeats of silence and he continued, "Come back and finish it. I'm not going to hurt you."

The fence protested the weight of a teenage boy vaulting back over it by creaking.

"I'm not scared," the boy asserted and he didn't sound scared. However, he skirted the yard close to the fence and stopped well outside arm's length of Loki.

The skittish behavior amused Loki: he had downed quarry far swifter of foot and at a greater distance. Loki frowned at the thought, a minute compression of his lips. It was the wrong persona and it was becoming oddly muddled in his head. This was Earth. He was a moderately successful banker standing in his suburban backyard dressed in business casual. Not a warrior prince who hunted inferior species for sport.

Not even so pretty a specimen as this. Loki was a magpie at heart. If it glittered, he wanted to own it.

"What's your name?"

"Tony," the kid answered, reluctantly and a tad belligerently.

" _Tony_." Loki tasted the name carefully in his mouth. "Catch."

 

Tony had never played sports—not after the disaster that Little League T-ball had been—but he had decent natural reflexes and only fumbled the can of pop a bit. He wiped the condensation doubtfully from the shiny red label with his thumb. It looked like a peace offering.

"So. . . you're not mad anymore?" Tony cracked the can open and let it foam into his mouth.

"I thought you might be thirsty. Come, finish your work."

He didn't sound angry, at least. Tony cautiously returned, setting down the can to pick up the discarded rag. Loki didn't move back. Tony started scrubbing, with the older man's proximity causing his skin to prickle weirdly. It made his movements slower and less coordinated.

The better part of yesterday had seen Tony locked in his room in a dark black mood. To have been caught tagging. . . not just caught, but so _completely and humiliatingly caught_ , fomented a nauseous acidic anger. Loki dressed himself in the same conservative suits worn by the most uptight of Tony's father's business partners, no color, no style, and he never smiled. Tony had seen him at a few neighborhood parties. He'd seen him again at some business function Howard had dragged him to earlier that week. Tony had him nailed as a hoitytoity dickwad.

No matter how many times Howard yelled at Tony to respect the source of the income that paid for his parties, his delinquency, not to mention his six figure college tuition, Tony couldn't shake the bitter feeling that it was killing him. All of it. The carefully manicured lawns, the paparazzi, youngest matriculate at M.I.T. of his generation, his father's disappointment, the garden parties with Maria, shaking hands with dignitaries, unbridled patriotism and optimism until his face hurt from smiling.

He was a bored, spoiled, rich kid and he knew it _and he hated it_.

Tony had expected Loki to holler about calling the cops or siccing the dog, but he had been chased and caught. Held down. Loki had been so much faster and stronger; the fury in those green eyes was deadly and self-assured. He had picked up the spray can and Tony had spent several long seconds wondering what acrylic aerosol paint does to the inside of a person's lungs or the surface of their eyeballs.

Laying in bed last night thinking about it, Tony had shoved a hand down his shorts and grabbed his dick, feeling angry and ashamed but too aroused to stop.

Loki stood silently behind him while soapy water streaked down Tony's arms and Tony hoped that the sweat on his neck would be attributed to manual labor or the warm night air, not the dirty turn his thoughts had taken.

 

Loki kept to his intentions. May stretched into July and Loki did nothing to seduce the teen. In part because Loki considered himself to be a principled god, unlike ~~Thor~~ many Ás who were led by their base urges into any sort of folly.

In part because he didn't need to. Tony was doing all the work for him.

Tony wasn't a latchkey kid, Loki knew that. He had a stay-at-home mother, a father who worked regular hours, and even a butler to see to his needs and entertainment. He had friends from college whom he called and texted frequently. Yet more mornings than not, he was out in Loki's yard at 8 am to see him off to work. In the evenings, he helped mow the lawn or trim the hedges or repaint the porch or he scaled the latticework to the upper deck and played around in the hot tub. He was lying in the yard on a beach towel in too-tight shorts with his laptop, smartphone, e-reader, and a good old fashioned textbook—Loki took him out a raspberry popsicle because he wouldn't touch but looking. . . looking couldn't hurt anything. _Thank you, Loki,_ he'd said, already tearing the wrapper with his teeth, and Loki knew he was lost.

Tony had commandeered Loki's tool shed and was building some kind of robot inside. Loki only had a tool shed because it had come with the house and he said nothing when he saw Tony picking the lock.

Loki got out of bed one morning at 3 am to get a glass of water and forwent the refrigerator in favor of descending to the basement and quietly changing all the house wards.

Loki started buying groceries for two. He left the back door unlocked so Tony could come in and use the bathroom whenever he needed instead of going home. One night Tony fell asleep on Loki's sofa and Loki didn't have the heart to wake him. He vanished for three days after that and came back grouching about being grounded and having his lab access revoked. Yes, he had an actual state-of-the-art laboratory complete with personal minions at his father's company. Yet he was building robots in Loki's tool shed. Loki kept the warm glow of that thought stashed away in the box of memories which he only touched in private contemplation.

 

Mr. Gearheart had cornered Loki during a Monday in early August in the breakroom to complain about what had happened to his garage the previous Saturday night. Gearheart was a man who derived great pleasure from regaling the world with his each and every woe. From the sympathetic looks being cast Loki's way by fellow bank employees, this was at least the third retelling today.

'Well, that's it then,' was the sarcastic retort on the tip of Loki's tongue. 'Might as well burn the house down and flee to Mexico.'

To be followed by a pointed and cold exit. He did not give his time to idlers and gossips; ironic perhaps, given how much idle gossip was his prized weapon.

However, Loki did not get further than, "Well, that's—" when something the other man had said caught his attention and held his tongue.

"—white on a green garage! Six hundred dollars to get it scrubbed clean. What the hell is the world coming to?"

"Graffiti?" Loki asked hesitantly.

Mr. Gearheart did live a few blocks over from Loki, but that was hardly proof of anything. Any random asshole could buy a can of paint or swipe one from their daddy's basement.

"Yeah. Just look at it!" A picture of the crime, ready and waiting on Gearheart's phone for this moment in the conversation, was thrust unceremoniously under Loki's nose.

Loki _knew_ that symbol.

"Can you send me that picture?" He asked faintly. "I think I might. . . have an idea about the culprit."

Mr. Gearheart, excited at someone finally being interested in his story, sent the image immediately.

 

"Hey, Loki," Tony greeted as he dropped his athletic bag by the door. "Jarvis told me to gather up my dirty clothes while I'm over. I'll be down in ten. Do you mind if we have spaghetti tonight?"

"What's this?" Loki asked quietly, showing Tony the photograph: white lines and dots on lime green exterior siding.

Tony flinched. "I don't know anything about that."

"Don't lie to me."

"I don't know what that is!"

"I can report this to the police, if you'd prefer."

"The police already kno— fuck."

"Yes, _aptly_ put. I told you not to lie to me."

"Why do you even care?" Tony shouted.

It was good question. Unfortunately for Tony, Loki had no intention of answering honestly. "You think my affairs do not extend to whether I harbor a miscreant in my own house? I thought you had progressed beyond such juvenile behavior."

Loki didn't care what Earth laws or social mores Tony broke, of course he didn't. Seeing that picture had enraged Loki for so much pettier a reason: a little piece of Tony's life kept hidden from Loki.

The long hot summer. . . evening after evening of Tony in his house and yard, dressed in clothes that screamed easy access, babbling every stray bit of idiocy and brilliance that came into his mind. . . Loki had forgotten _(chosen to forget, a little voice whispered)_ that Tony had a life outside their time together. Loki had opened his house, _his heart_ , given everything he could think to give and asked nothing in return. Nothing is exactly what he would get. Tony would return to school in the fall. The fantasy summer would melt like ice in the sun.

"So you're like every other adult," Tony taunted bitterly. "Too wrapped up in your _property values_ or taxes or whatever the fuck to care about. . . care about anything more important than your stupid egos."

 _Care about me_ , Loki surmised. Well, he would disabuse that but first. . .

He had been remarkably lenient with Tony's insolence. It was time for Tony to get a taste of Loki's less charitable nature. Jealousy and heartbreak had called _all_ his bitter demons to life.

Faster than Tony could even see, Loki swung his left hand out, thumb down, grabbed the back of Tony's neck and yanked, tripping him over Loki's left foot, and pulled his unbalanced body effortlessly over a bar stool which had been nudged into position with a subtle bit of seiðr. Tony instinctively tried to scramble upright. Just a tiny hint of Asgardian strength, one hand between Tony's shoulder blades, pushing down, stilled his struggles.

"Stay there."

"Why?"

Loki ignored Tony.

"Hey! Where are you going?"

In the backyard, Loki swiftly cut a switch from one of the birches. It was two and half feet long. A few test slashes proved it was flexible and well balanced.

Loki was honestly surprised, entering the kitchen, to find Tony still draped over the stool. His posture screamed bored and contemptuous, _so throughly adolescent_ that Loki had to stop and admire it.

"Well?" Tony demanded, when the silence had stretched on, "You gonna keep yelling at me about my delinquent behavior?"

Loki crossed the floor in three swift steps. He was unable to keep the amusement from his voice.

"Not yell, no."

He waved the switch in Tony's line of vision for just a millisecond, long enough to see shocked recognition dawning in those beautiful eyes, then stepped back and brought it down on his posterior. Tony scrambled for balance, grabbing the leather between spread fingers, his elbows poised to shove himself upright. He even got so far as to bring his head up and lift his shoulders, but then froze as though torn between two strongly conflicting impulses.

"You can leave"

_swat_

"whenever"

_swat_

"you want"

_swat, swat, swat_

"or"

_swat_

"you can stay"

_hiss, crACK_

"until I'm done with you."

Loki stepped back, letting the switch fall to his side. Tony made no move to stand, only gripped the stool harder, breathing hard.

He raised his head and glared murder at Loki. His irises were already filmed over with tears. Loki pulled on the brown hair to raise Tony's face further, admiring the unshed tears and the ugly red flush over his cheeks. He pressed the thin length of wood against Tony's lips, just because he could. The firm wood brushed soft divots in the pink flesh until Tony opened his mouth and took the implement between his teeth. Tony's lashes fluttered. Loki caught the subtle shifting of Tony's hips against the black leather padding.

The late afternoon sun spilled over the patio outside. The open door brought in the first sound of evening crickets. A fresh warm breeze fluttered the napkins in their countertop holder. Tony held absolutely still, trembling with rage and lust, and Loki decided it was the most perfect thing he had ever seen.

To Hel with good intentions. Loki retrieved the switch from Tony's mouth and beat him over and over and _over_. Tony started to whine and the whining changed pitch until it became full, broken sobs. Loki drank it up in blissed out euphoria.

"Please stop, please stop, please stop," Tony was begging quietly between sobs. "Please stop."

"You can get up whenever you want to," Loki reminded him, voice sounding distant in his own ears. It was important, important to him that Tony knew that.

Tony's fists remained clenched bloodless around the base of the bar stool. After a while, he stopped begging and stopped crying, the only noise became his deep, trance-like breathing and Loki felt something go quiet and calm inside. He finished with two crisscrossed strikes biting Tony's shoulder blades; Tony tossed his head back and howled—bellowed, truly—in surprise as much as pain.

Loki dropped the switch to the floor and it was over.

He ran a gentle hand through the back of Tony's lovely brown hair and slid his other palm soothingly over the throughly bruised curve of his ass.

"You were so very good," he praised. "You took your punishment so well."

"Yeah, whatever," Tony muttered sullenly, pushing slowly to his feet, swaying a little. "I have to go."

"Have a glass of water before you do. You need it."

Loki took down a glass and filled it, warming it with a tiny hint of whispered magic to the exact tepid state Tony preferred. Tony took the glass from him. He moved to sit at the counter with it, then thought better and drank it standing. Loki wanted to hug him, but the exhausted, guarded lines of Tony's body screamed evasiveness. Loki reluctantly kept to the far side of the kitchen.

Tony wanted to say something after setting the glass down. He was scratching the nails of his right hand on his collarbone, a sure tell that he was thinking something serious. In the end, he headed wordlessly for the door.

"See you, Loki," Tony called back flatly and Loki couldn't tell if he meant it or not.

 

Loki knew perfectly well that Tony needed time to assert his independence. It was with humans as it was with all animals, if you pulled, they resisted. If you relaxed your grip, allowed them their freedom, they were captured and tamed rather easily. It didn't stop the clawing panic he felt each day, _no, each hour_ , waiting for Tony to return. Perhaps he had miscalculated, gone too hard or too soon.

Maybe he should have manned his principles and never touched the boy at all, he thought bitterly, starring at the darkened skylight over his bed.

His conscience, such as it was, and his good sense warred with his darkest impulses. It would be so easy to enter the Stark residence by night, bind Tony with magic, and take them to a place where Tony could never run away again. So easy, yet that devastatingly alluring trust in Tony's eyes would be gone forever. Loki sighed.

He had to wait. However long it might take.

 

It took a week.

Loki caught the sound of feet quickly approaching and the back door opening without so much as a by-your-leave. Tony stood in the kitchen doorway. He was flushed, as though he had just run here.

"I keyed Mrs. Alyson's minivan," Tony said quietly, looking anywhere but at Loki.

"You. . ." Loki's heart was suddenly beating far too fast. "When?"

Tony swallowed. "Five minutes ago."

Loki took it all slowly in: the hunched posture, the lowered head, the slightly defiant set of the jaw.

"Oh, Tony." He smothered down his laughter not wanting Tony to think he was being mocked. He took the boy's jaw in one hand, tilting his head carefully up until their eyes met. "If you want punished, I am delighted to oblige. You are not required to _act out_ to get what you want from me."

"You mean some kind of DBSM thing?" Tony asked, trying and failing to look casual about the question.

"BDSM," Loki corrected, "and yes, that is precisely what I mean."

"But no freaky shit?" Tony warned nervously.

Loki feigned a disappointed frown. "You mean I can't put you a in sparkly pink collar, lock you in a kennel, and call you Daisy?"

"I guess. If you want to," Tony prevaricated, blushing hard. His eyes shifted to the side, clearly picturing what Loki had described and—Loki snickered—looking more intrigued than repulsed by it.

Merriment aside, "Of course I would do nothing which you find distasteful. You belong to me. Your happiness is dear to me."

The confession had slipped out without Loki's intention, but far from looking alarmed, Tony smiled cheekily. "Belong, huh? I kinda like that."

Loki smiled back. Seconds ticked away of starring into each other's eyes. Loki liked looking at Tony. He was handsome in manner that defied words. Puberty had been having its unrepentant way with him, leaving traces of acne and muscles struggling to catch up to an expanding frame. He was exceedingly thin through the belly and hips, every spare calorie spent on growing. His skin was still boyish even on the patches where hair was crowding in thicker and darker. It might have been off-putting but it wasn't. It was delightful and Loki felt a faint blush heating his cheeks. Tony noticed immediately and the look in his gorgeous brown eyes was awed and aroused.

Loki opened his arms and Tony stepped forward to settle his head on Loki's chest. Pressed chest to chest, their breathing quickly synchronized. Loki couldn't honestly remember the last time he'd had someone cradled in his arms. It had been too long. And this. . . he wondered if Tony had ever been held by a lover.

"I don't want to be beaten again," Tony said, in a subdued tone, like he wasn't sure if he would seriously be allowed a choice. "I've still got bruises from last week."

Loki pitched his voice warm and inviting. "What would you like?"

Tony was blushing like a fire engine, but his eyes, when he raised them to Loki's, were sparkling.

"Maybe you could um—" The rest of Tony's sentence was lost in a mumble.

Loki quirked an eyebrow, lips twitching. "What was that?"

Of course his hearing was superior to that of a human and Loki had heard Tony's request. He just wanted the pleasure of forcing his young companion to repeat himself. Tony, however, had apparently reached the end of his courage. He pulled his phone out of his jeans and fiddled with it, obviously searching for something. All the while, Loki kept an arm draped over Tony's shoulder. When he'd found the picture he wanted, he held it out wordlessly to Loki.

" _Oh._ " Loki glanced between screen and Tony's face. "Oh, that's quite an image. This is what you would have done to you?"

Tony looked like he could barely breathe. "Yup. That's what I want."

"And afterward, when you are helpless? What would you want next, you terribly trusting creature?"

"You're gonna make me say it?" Tony whined in a petulant tone.

"Oh, yes." Loki crowded Tony to the wall, relishing the natural difference in their heights. "Every. Single. Word."

Tony gulped on air until Loki took pity and dropped the predator act. "Tony, we're friends. . . I hope? You can tell me. I won't mock you, I give my word."

"I want," Tony started, then stopped. After casting about helplessly for a moment, he wrapped his arms around Loki's neck and managed to get the rest of it out by whispering into Loki's ear.

"That," Loki promised heatedly, "you will have. Go wait for me in the garage."

 

Tony shivered slightly inside the unpainted concrete walls. It was cool inside the garage, despite the afternoon sun beating on the exterior wall and filtering through a tiny cobwebbed window.

After last week, Tony was having a hard time believing that he'd come back. He had been so pissed off. As far as he knew, only little boys, _not teenagers_ , were spanked. Not that Tony had ever been spanked in his life. Also, how dare Loki decide he got to punish Tony for anything. If not for a stubborn determination to prove to Loki that he could take anything Loki cared to dish out, Tony would have been out the door the second he'd seen that tree branch waving in front of his face.

Tony had had no idea why Loki had left him mid-argument. He had been flustered by the feeling of Loki grabbing his neck and effortlessly tossing him over the kitchen stool. Such an inconvenient time for the crush he had struggled with all summer to come back in force. It wasn't like he hadn't known about Loki's violent streak. It was how they had met, after all.

By the time he had gone from surprised to angry to bored to aroused, Loki had been back in the kitchen. The indeterminate minutes after that had been nothing but agony. Even the time he had taken a curve too fast on his dirt bike and had flown into a row of hazel bushes probably hadn't hurt as much. Tony had left the house angry and stayed angry. Yet after numerous mental rounds of _just where does he get off trying to act like my dad none of his fucking business what I do to other people's property_ there remained one fact that Tony just couldn't escape: he'd loved it. It had hurt like battery acid, but there had never been any danger. Hell, Loki had said he could get up and leave. Tony had believed it; had trusted Loki completely. He kept finding excuses to lock himself in his bedroom so he could take down his shorts and stare at the bruises in the mirror.

He hadn't enjoyed the pain _at all_ and he liked the humiliation even less, but by the end of the week Tony was done lying to himself. If getting beat black and blue were the price of admittance to Loki's fierce and unrestrained dominance, Tony would sign on the dotted line. It had been a bitter realization. Tony didn't give a flying fuck about being gay. As far as he was concerned, that was just another great way to stick it to the old man. This, though? No way would he ever let Howard find out. No way would he let _anyone_ find out. He didn't even want to say it in his own head. A. . . a submissive. That's what they called guys who let themselves be bossed around. The gossip rags would have a field day if they ever found out. Anthony Edward Stark liked sucking cock? That was edgy and exciting and fit right in with the recent slew of gay teen celebrities. A.E. Stark wanting to get down on his hands and knees, tuck his head against Loki's polished black oxfords, and beg to serve his master? He'd been doing that all summer—finding odd jobs around the house and yard, hours of sweated labor just for the pleasure of hearing _good work, Tony_ in Loki's satiny voice—an epiphany which had stung when it came in the middle of a midnight masturbation session. Oh, they would report it delicately; Tony was still a minor and none of them wanted to be sued. Trouble in the home, rumors of mental illness, the future of SI in jeopardy.

Nobody. That's who he would tell about this.

What in the hell was Loki doing, Tony wondered, suddenly brought back to the present by a dog barking down the street. Stepped out for ice cream? Had Loki just sent him out here as a humiliating joke? No, Tony knew Loki would never do that, but he couldn't stop the tiny rising tendrils of panic.

Moments later, the joining door between the garage and kitchen opened with a huff. Loki briskly crossed the room to the Honda resting innocently on its kickstand and pulled the cover off.

Tony had fallen a little bit in love with that motorcycle. Not that he was stupid enough to ask for a chance to ride it. The vintage bike had a second seat that extended back over the rear fender. The paintwork was deep and glossy. The chrome didn't have a single scratch on it and the engine, the few times Tony had heard it running, purred like a very happy panther.

"Well, Mr. Stark?" Loki dropped his equipment on the floor and patted the leather. "Have a seat."

Tony glanced at the pile of tools—rope, chain, handcuffs—and couldn't honestly believe he was doing this. He straddled the bike, feeling the tiny familiar burn in his thighs. He kept one foot planted on the floor next to the kickstand for balance, watching as Loki wrapped a padded chain around the handlebars and padlocked it in place.

"Hands first."

The clicking of the handcuff closing over Tony's left wrist sounded extraordinarily loud in the silent garage. Loki passed the open cuff under the chain, then over, then around Tony's right wrist. The chain would not come off the handlebars until unlocked and Tony's hands would be staying very close to the chain. He shivered.

"I'm going to pick up your right foot," Loki warned.

Tony handed it to him easily enough. He could no longer stand up straight, thanks to his cuffed hands, but he felt well balanced by his left foot on the concrete. That didn't stop the blood pooling in his groin when Loki dragged his leg back and secured the ankle with rope to the rear suspension.

Before picking up the other foot, Loki knelt beside him for a while, stroking gentle patterns on Tony's calf.

"Comfortable?" He finally asked.

Tony exhaled slowly and recentered his balance.

"Yeah," he confirmed, lifting his foot slightly to show that he was not resting any weight on it.

Loki pulled it swiftly back and Tony was hit with the gravity of his helplessness. If the bike fell. . . if Loki pushed it. . . a shattered tibia would be the most optimistic of outcomes. He twisted his feet in air and pulled at the cuffs. Why had he thought this would be a good idea? Loki fisted his hand in Tony's hair, yanking just on the pleasurable side of rough.

"Are you feeling sufficiently punished yet?" Loki growled.

Oh. That was why.

"You know I didn't really key anyone's car, right?" Tony pointed out breathily.

Loki chuckled. "Yes, I suspected as much."

Then, unexpectedly, he knocked out the kickstand.

Tony felt the bike tilt under him and gave an itty-bitty shriek. All his muscles tensed as he yanked hard against completely unyielding bindings. The whole thing was over in less than a second, Loki easily stabilizing the leaning motorcycle, but Tony was close to coming just from the adrenaline rush. This was better than flying, better than hang gliding, better than anything. Kickstand out of the way, Loki guided the bike to the center of the garage. It was a strange sensation, floating over the floor without having any control of the direction or speed. Once there, Loki made quick work of a couple of small hydraulic jacks, then blocked the motorcycle. Tony almost had to bite back a sigh. It wasn't as though he was disappointed that Loki was taking his safety seriously. It was just, okay no lie, he liked being at Loki's mercy not to drop him.

"Pray tell, what has you blushing so hard?"

Tony hadn't been aware that he was blushing, but now he could feel the blood heating his cheeks and flushing down his neck. His shirt was starting to cling to his chest from sweat. He'd been cold earlier, but now everything felt too hot and close. He needed Loki's hands on him.

Could you just ask for that, he wondered. The few guys he'd been with before hadn't been much into talking. Plus, this had already flown so far past a couple of fumbling handjobs that Tony didn't think he should even compare the experiences. Loki liked to talk, liked hearing Tony talk, and it didn't seem like ~~sex~~ whatever this was would be an exception. It was still hard forcing his tongue into action. How did you even say stuff like that? A few things Tony had heard in some pornos sprang to mind and he blushed harder. No way was he going to say _I want your nasty hand on my big dick right now, daddy_. He would die of embarrassment. Loki would die of laughter.

"Please, Loki." He looked at the older man over his shoulder, pulling on the cuffs to distract himself from his discomfort. "Please may I have a handjob?"

Loki bit the knuckles on his left hand, masking the harshness of his sudden inhalation, and his eyes. . . that scorching look would have been worth saying anything for, anything at all.

"Absolutely," he agreed, fervently. "You have no idea what you look like to me right now, do you?"

Yep, definitely liked talking, Tony thought, not that he minded at all. "Wh- what do I look like?"

Slender, powerful hands settled delicately over his sides. Long fingers slowly gathered the thin folds of Tony's t-shirt. Tony shivered harder as each inch of his torso was bared. It took forever. Loki thumbed roughly over his nipples, made hypersensitive by the faint brushes of moving air in the garage. Guiding Tony's head through the top of the shirt was its own adventure. Tony had no idea by the end whether removing his shirt had been an excuse to fondle his hair or the other way 'round. Loki rubbed erotically over Tony's arms, stripping the shirt until it was no more than a twisted bunch of fabric around Tony's cuffed wrists.

Tony whined incoherently, trying to find enough leverage with his bound ankles to rut on the seat. When Loki simultaneously licked along the bottom of his spine while palming his ass firmly enough to drag him forward on the padded leather, Tony came in his pants.

He buried his face in his elbow, panting.

"Did you just orgasm?" Loki demanded.

"Y- yes," Tony admitted, mortified.

If he had not been literally tied down, Tony would have run out of the room. He couldn't ever remember feeling so humiliated in his life. Here he was trying to impress an adult—the first adult he'd tried to impress since he had figured out that Howard and Maria would never be impressed with him—an adult he had a huge crush on and who knew so much about sex and was cool with in a way that made all of Tony's classmates look like posers—and what did Tony do? Cum in his pants like a never touched virgin!

Loki grabbed Tony firmly by the hair, dragging his head up, stilling Tony's subconscious wrestling with his bondage. Tony closed his eyes to avoid having to see Loki's amused or, worse, disappointed expression.

"To answer your question. What you look like. . ."

Tony braced himself. Loki, he was certain, would be _nice_ about it. Somehow, that thought, of being _pitied_ , made it even worse. He wanted to curl up in a ball and die.

"You look like all my dirtiest fantasies."

Tony's eyes snapped open.

"Ooo, you think I'm lying?" Loki's mouth curved on a slow grin. He pulled out his phone. "Don't worry, I'll delete these later if you wish—"

"—you should delete them for your own protection—" Tony had recovered enough equilibrium to shoot back snottily.

"—but first you need to see yourself," Loki finished, moving around the bike to snap photographs at different angles. "You need to see exactly what you look like." He held the high definition touchscreen in front of Tony's face. "How about this one?" Loki swiped forward through the images. "Do you know what seeing you bound and spread makes me want to do? I can think of other things you might straddle with those thighs." He ran a teasing hand up the back of Tony's jeans. "Or this one. Had I ever seen arms as sexy as yours, I would have paid a king's ransom to fuck and be fucked by their owner. Look at your face here." He lowered his voice to a whisper against the shell of Tony's ear. "Aroused beyond self control and why?"

The answers which sprang to Tony's mind were all too vulnerable and pathetic, so he said nothing. Tony felt the residual embarrassment from going off like a bad 4th of July rocket but, well, Loki obviously didn't mind.

"Now answer me honestly." Loki slipped the phone back into his pocket. "If I were to untie you now, strip you out of these soiled clothes, lead you dressed in nothing up to my bedroom, lay you out on my comforter, kiss you until you are breathless with arousal, take your sweet cock in hand," he palmed over the damp spot on Tony's crotch to illustrate, "and stroke you to as many orgasms as you can stand. . . would you have any objection whatsoever?"

"Really?" Tony was practically vibrating with excitement. " _Really_ really?"

Loki nodded.

"Oh fuck yeah."

**Author's Note:**

> [This is the emblem](http://www.catb.org/hacker-emblem/) Tony was painting on shit, if you happen to be curious.


End file.
